Across the Distance
by The Dairy Queen
Summary: Diana Ryehart has felt tied to Titanic for as long as she can remember. Now her obsession has led her to the doorstep of the legendary ship, and the line will be blurred between the past and her present. Please Read and Review. Thomas AndrewsOC
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own Titanic. It belongs to history and James Cameron. I do not own Thomas Andrews or any of the other character, except Diana Ryehart and Josh Byrd. **

**Enjoy and please give me constructive critcism. **

"It takes three million rivets and a lot of sweat to make a fine ship."

Thomas Andrews, Master Shipbuilder

9 April 2012- London

Byrd Laboratories

…Anderson, S. Third-Class Passenger -Lost

Anderson, S. Third-Class Passenger-Lost

Anderson, T. Third-Class Passenger-Lost

Anderson, W. Bedroom Steward-Lost

Andreason, P. Third-Class Passenger- Lost

Andrew, E. Second-Class Passenger- Lost

Andrew, F. Second-Class Passenger- Lost

Andrews, C. Assistant Steward-Saved

Andrews, Miss C. First-Class Passenger-Saved

Andrews, T. First-Class Passenger-Lost…

The lights suddenly came on. Dr. Ryehart blinked and rubbed her eyes, unaccustomed to the light. She left the film projection running, and turned to glare at whoever had interrupted her. But then her glower melted- somewhat -when she saw who was in the doorway.

"You know that if you were anyone else…" she said.

Josh Byrd smiled. "I know," he responded. "And I'm thankful everyday I'm not someone else, Diana."

"You always were lucky. Turn off the light."

When Josh had turned the overhead lamps off, Diana turned back to her work.

…Be Breucq, Maurice E. Assistant Waiter- Lost

del Carlo, Mrs. A. Second-Class Passenger- Saved

del Carlo, S. Second-Class Passenger- Lost

De Messemaeker, W. Third-Class Passenger-Saved

De Messemaeker, A. Third- Class Passenger- Saved

De Mulder, T. Third-Class Passenger- Saved

de Villiers, Mrs. B. First-Class Passenger- Saved

DeWitt Bukater, R. First-Class Passenger- Lost

DeWitt Bukater, Mrs. R. First Class Passenger- Saved

Deacon, P. Second-Class Passenger- Lost

Dean, B. Third-Class Passenger- Lost

Dean, George H. Assistant Steward- Lost…

"I wen…"Josh began

"Shhh!"

"I went to the cafeteria," he repeated in a whisper. "I brought you tea." Josh took a seat next to her and handed her a steaming Styrofoam cup. Diana accepted it, took a sip, and put it down next to her. Her eyes remained locked on the projection. On a notepad in front of her, she scribbled notes, incoherent and unreadable to anyone else.

"You still at it?" Josh asked awkwardly.

"You can see for yourself that I am 'still at it,' so why ask?" Quietly, she added: "It makes them real to me, the enormity."

"Look, don't get me wrong. Staring at a hundred year old passenger list seems like a lot of fun, but I don't see how its gonna help anything."

Diana said nothing and for several minutes neither of them said a word as the list continued.

…Rummer, G. Saloon Steward- Lost

Rummestvet, K. Third-Class Passenger- Lost

Reish, A. Third-Class Passenger- Lost

Russell, R. Saloon Steward- Lost

Ryan, E. Third-Class Passenger- Saved

Ryan, P. Third-Class Passenger- Lost

Ryan, T. Third-Class Passenger- Lost

Ryehart, D. First-Class Passenger- Lost

Ryerson, A. First-Class Passenger- Lost…

"Are you still going to go through with it?" Josh suddenly broke the silence.

Diana sat very still. Then, she shut the projector off, stood up, turned on the light, and faced Josh.

"Of course I am going to go through with it," she said fiercely. "Do you think I've worked this hard- obsessed, given up my life- for five years, not to follow it through?"

Josh had remained seated until that time. He looked at her coolly, unphased by her outburst. He never was. Now he stood up and walked over to her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"In all the years that you've known me, have I ever let you down? Have you ever had a reason to doubt me?" her voice was soft and bitter.

"Never," Josh said soothingly. "I just still don't understand why you're doing this. What's the point?"

"The point?" Diana stepped away from him. "I have explained the point before. We've discussed this before!"

"I know, I know. We've been over it. But I don't think you realize the risk-"

"This is ridiculous. Do you realize what we would be accomplishing? We will change the course of history!"

Josh shook his head. "You don't know what you could be doing. What if you screw up time?"

"How would that be so bad? Think about what we would be changing, how many lives we'd save."

"I just don't know…"

"Are you backing out?" Diana turned away. "I won't make you do it if you don't want to."

Josh sighed. "I'd never do that to you. I just want to make sure you know what you're doing."

"I've handled everything." She gripped his hand. "Trust me!"

Josh searched her face, looking for any sign of uncertainty. Then he nodded. "Alright."

Diana smiled. "Good," she said, and strode over to her desk and picked up her notepad and a navy messenger bag. "Let's go then. We've a lot to do."

"Where are we going?" Josh asked.

Diana stopped, her eyebrows raised. "To get ready."

* * *

"I still don't get how this is supposed to work." Josh shouted above the storm of voices. He shoved his way down the crowded London sidewalk to catch up with Diana, who was walking at a brisk pace ahead of him.

"Again?" she said, rolling her eyes. "I've already-"

"Yeah, I know, you've explained it to me about a billion times in a billion words. But please, for a moment, try to remember that I didn't graduate when I was three years old from Harvard like you."

Diana laughed. Someone who knew her that didn't happen to be Josh Byrd would have stopped dead in their tracks, their eyes bugged out and their mouth gaping open. They might have written it down in their diary, or marked it on their calendar, or called a local newspaper, such was the rarity of the event. But Josh Byrd was just Josh Byrd and made no reaction.

"Alright," Diana said. "Time moves vertically, not horizontally. Therefore, a person cannot move from place to place, only, theoretically, from time to time."

"Yeah, I remember that part. Do you forget the hours I spent making you coffee while you stayed up all night figuring it out?"

"You did ask me to explain it to you."

"Fair enough. Continue."

"Right. Now, the various dimensions, or levels, of time can be viewed like an apartment building, stacked. Generally, it is impossible to cross levels, because of the static barriers that separate them. But, if a force can be generated with enough power, it will rip an opening in the barrier. And this will result in 'falling'"

"Passing from one time to another," Josh interjected.

"Exactly. Do you understand now?"

"Almost. How are we supposed to get on the ship? I mean, won't it already be full?"

Diana shook her head. "No. Titanic wasn't filled to capacity on her maiden voyage. If she had been, the disaster would have been far worse. But no, I shouldn't think we'll have trouble booking passage. Ah, here we are.

She stopped in front of a small, narrow shop. In its front window was displayed historical and vintage clothing.

"Are you telling me I actually have to wear that get-up?" said Josh, eying a men's top coat ensemble warily. It was no wonder; his own eclectic wardrobe was in complete contrast to what he was looking at.

"Of course not," said Diana, grabbing his arm and pulling him into the shop. "I have something else for you.

* * *

Diana stood in front of a full length mirror, inspecting the meticulous detail on the gown she wore. It was of traditional Edwardian fit of deep blue brocade coat dress with gold filigree on the collar and cuffs. The shop keeper, a woman of about fifty and stiff expression came up behind her.

"One of our best pieces," she said with a false smile.

"You are sure it is completely accurate? It wasn't altered in any way?" asked Diana, looking closely at a seam.

"I should saynot!" said the woman disdainfully. "We offer only the best historical garments."

"Hmmm…alright. Yes," said Diana, still squinting at every detail of the gown. "Could you please bring me the hat?"

"Right away, ma'am," responded the woman, turning away with her nose in the air.

"So, ah, how do I look?"

Diana turned to see Josh coming out of the men's dressing room. He was dressed in gray plaid trousers and a vest and felt-lined jacket. On his head was a black bowler hat.

"Well?" he persisted.

Diana circled around Josh, looking him up and down. After a few moments, she adjusted his hat (which turned in the wrong direction), tugged a bit at his coat, and said: "Not bad, not bad. Yes, I think they'll do very well…"

"Ma'am?" The woman was back. "Your hat."

"Oh, thank you," said Diana, accepting the enormous hat and pin the woman handed her. It was about three times the width of her head, and overloaded with blue silk flowers and a large bow. As she pinned it to her chestnut-coloured hair that she had piled atop her head, she heard an odd strangled sound behind her, like a cross breed of a chortle and a gargle. Diana turned.

"Are you laughing at me?" she demanded as Josh's face turned red and her looked like he was about to explode.

"No, no!" he insisted, but at the same time a deep laugh burst from him. "Well, just... a little-"

"And what, pray tell, for?"

"Nothing! Er, maybe…that hat-" he didn't finish because he interrupted himself with another burst of laughter.

"You know," Diana said getting annoyed. "You won't be able to do that in Southampton. In 1912, women wore these hats all the time, and many were more ridiculous than mine-"

Josh coughed, and nodded quickly in the direction of the shopkeeper, who was stared at them open-mouthed.

"I-I mean," Diana said quickly. "The Historical Society meeting will have plenty of people dressed like this, so get used to it." She turned to the woman and smiled sugar-sweetly. "We'll take these, and the other items I mentioned on the telephone."

"Right away," said the woman, still eying them suspiciously.

A few minutes later, after they had changed back into their regular clothes, they met the woman at the front desk to get the other garments.

"What the hell is all this?" cried Josh, looking at the three large trunks of clothes. "Do you think I'm gonna carry them?"

"You didn't expect us to show up with nothing but the clothes on our backs did you? Don't worry, we'll take a cab."

"Is all that yours?"

"No. There are a few things for you."

"Excuse me ma'am," said the woman sourly as they were leaving. "You do understand that these are _rentals. _They must be returned in the same condition as when they exit that door.

"Don't worry," Diana said seriously, "If all goes well, some of them won't be worn at all." Then she left the shop and hailed a cab.

* * *

10 April, 2012

8:30 a.m.

Southampton

Twenty-four hours later, Diana Ryehart and Josh Byrd arrived at the old Southampton pier, after taking the train from London. They were once again in their Edwardian outfits, having dressed on the train, which did prove to garner many amused and confused stares from their fellow passengers. The cab driver helped them unload the trunks and an unmarked case, muttering to him self about the "nutcases" he always seemed to get, and drove off, leaving them on the eerily deserted pier.

"Is this it?" Josh asked, looking around at the empty beach.

"Yes," Diana said softly. "This is it. See there? Those are the original track for the cranes. This is Pier 44."

Josh let out a low whistle. "Damn, I can't recognize it."

Diana nodded, her eyes downcast. Then she looked up, pulled a tattered piece of paper from her messenger bag, and scrutinized it for a moment.

"What's that?" Josh asked.

"Coordinates," she said simply and grabbed one of the luggage carriers holding the case and one of her trunks, and then began to walk at a brisk pace away from him.

"Hey!" he shouted. "What are you doing? Shouldn't we be setting this thing up?"

"Not here," she responded over her shoulder, but kept walking. "One hundred years ago, this place was packed. If we did it here there would be a lot of people to witness us appearing out of nowhere. Now if you are through standing there, get the other trunks and follow me."

After walking about three hundred feet farther, Diana stopped.

"Yes," she said, half to herself, still looking at the paper. "This is about right. Could you give me a hand?"

They pried the lid off the case. Josh looked down at the contents in shock. They consisted of a four unusual looking rods, what looked like a cell phone, and a large black umbrella.

"So this is what you've been spending my father's money on?" he said, only half joking.

"Well, yes. What did you expect? A DeLorean?" she said as she skewered the sand with the rods, setting up a square around them. "Put the trunks around us."

"You know what I mean," Josh said, following her orders. "I just expected a little more. Diana, an umbrella?"

She picked up the umbrella and opened it. It covered them and the trunks. "It's solar powered, so we don't have to bring any outside energy sources. The spike at the top will channel the solar power."

"And the cell phone?"

"That's really only for show. I could have put the activation mechanism anywhere." She picked it up, her thumb poised over the call button. "Alright…this is it."

"Wait!" Josh stopped her. He took a deep breath. "Are you sure you know how this thing works?"

"Yes, of course!" she scornfully, before adding almost inaudibly: "I think."

Before Josh could protest or stop her, Diana pressed the button. A blue, electric translucent wall surrounded them and for a moment they were suspended, frozen in their positions. Then they disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Titanic or any of the people on board, except Diana Ryehart and Josh Byrd. **

They appeared suddenly. Josh staggered a step, lost his balance, and promptly fell over in a heap. Next to him, Diana's hat had come down over her eyes, and her arms were flailing wildly, swinging the umbrella in wide, hazardous arcs. One such arch smacked Jack square in the face.

"Jesus!" he yelled. "Poke my eye out why don't you!"

"I'm sorry!" Diana said, finally sticking the umbrella in the ground and using it for support. "It's not like these things are easy to walk in."

"Hey, you wanted to be in first-class, _Madame_," he said sarcastically. "If you'd of gone for third, you would be wearing nice, sensible boots right now instead of those ice picks."

"Shut up, Josh," Diana said, bending down –as well as she could in a corset- and opening one of the trunks. From amongst her clothes, she pulled out a rucksack and handed it to Josh. "There are some other clothes in there for you, and some money. Not a lot, because you really shouldn't have that much."

"Where are we?"

"We're behind the White Star Line offices."

"Damn, I never thought it'd actually work."

"Thank you for you confidence, Josh, it really is overwhelming."

"Aw, come on Diana. Did you really think it would work? Can you honestly tell me you were one hundred percent positive?"

A serious look came on Diana's face, and she smiled. "Yes, I did. I can't explain it, but I did. Somehow, I always knew that I would."

"Yeah, I know. Listen, shouldn't we get going?" he squinted at the sun, which had not yet risen to its full height in the sky. "DO you know what time it is?"

"No, but you do. Check your right- no left- pocket."

Josh looked at her with a questioning expression on his face, reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out a gold pocket watch. "Oh, snazzy! Thanks!"

"Just don't lose it. That one I had to buy and it didn't come cheap because I had to track down an authentic one. For precaution's sake."

Josh grinned and pulled her into a tight hug.

"Easy there," said Diana. "We wouldn't want anyone thinking that you like me."

"Oh God," Josh said in a sardonic voice. "We couldn't have that."

Diana allowed a brief smile, and pulled away from him. "Come. We need to buy our tickets."

"Oh yeah, I hope you're right that this'll be easy, or this'll be the shortest vacation in history. Come on."

"Wait," Dian said, looking uncertainly at her trunks. "I can't bring these. Even if I could carry them all, it would look out of place."

"So what are you going to do?"

Diana thought for a moment. Then she said: "Give me your bag."

"Why?" Josh asked as he handed it to her. "What do you need it for?"

Diana gave no response, but opened up the rucksack and pulled out a brown wool blanket and put it over the trunks, covering them completely.

"That should hold them for a while," she said, fixing her hat and smoothing the wrinkles in her dress. Then she started to walk away.

"Um, hello?" Josh said, eying his blanket. "Am I supposed to freeze to death? Come on, Diana! Y'know, I once crossed the channel on a fishing boat, and I woke up with icicles hanging from my nose!"

Diana rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. What a baby you are. Do you think there won't be blankets on Titanic? She is the grandest ship ever built, and you're worried that they won't make sure you are tucked in?"

"Well," said Josh, his eyes on the ground on which he was tracing a circle with his foot. "I kinda liked that one. It made me all toasty…"

Diana sighed heavily. "Alright," she said in an exasperated tone. "I'll bring it back to you after we leave port, okay?"

"Okay. Let's check this place out." The previous dilemma evaporating from his brain, Josh grabbed her arm and started to pull her from the ally behind the offices."

"No, wait!" Diana said, digging her heals in the ground. "We should go separately."

"Huh?"

"It would look a bit odd, a steerage passenger traveling with a first-class passenger."

"Aw, come on. I could be your valet, or something."

"No Josh. I don't want there to be any mistakes."

Josh put his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eye. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I'll be alright, Josh. You go ahead, I'll be right behind you."

"You'll yell if you need me?"

"As loud as I can."

Josh looked at her a moment longer, and then smiled. "I'll be seeing you," he said as he walked away.

"Sooner rather than later," Diana responded after him. He turned and smiled and gave a brief nod. Then he was gone.

Diana breathed in deeply and slowly released it. Slowly, she took a step forward. Then another. Another step, another, until she was at the edge of the ally. She closed her eyes.

"This is it," she thought. "Now or never." She stepped into the sunlight, and opened her eyes.

It was like stepping into a photograph. But the still figures were unfrozen, brought to life by glorious reality. Hearts beat to the course of blood flowing through veins. A thousand sensations accosted her. Here was living history, all its sounds, and smells. There the cargo was beginning to be loaded, and farther aft, 6th Officer Moody was readying the gangway for the passengers, and here and there White Star Line gentlemen looked on. Her eyes were drawn upward and for an eternity, there were only colours: black, white, and yellow. There she was: Titanic in her tragic beauty. And suddenly Diana felt the tears falling from her eyes.

"Are you alright?"

Diana looked away from the magnificent ship. A tall, kind faced man stood by her, his brown eyes written in concern.

"I-ah," Diana began, flustered. "No- I mean yes. I'm fine."

"You are sure?" his voice was warm and he had a refined Irish accent. And, there was something naggingly familiar about him.

"Yes. She's just so…" Diana gave an embarrassed laugh as she hurriedly brushed the tears from her eyes. "I'm sorry. To be honest, I'm a bit overwhelmed." Diana looked back at Titanic, her massive hull rising from the water like a leviathan. "She's perfect," Diana said softly.

"Thank you," the man said with a smile.

Diana looked at him quizzically. Then in a rush, she realized who he was. Now she recognized the featured she had seen so many times in photographs, which were suddenly real. "I beg your pardon, sir, but would you be Mr. Thomas Andrews?"

* * *

The pier had not yet become overly crowded. There were very few passengers, as most would not be arriving for the next hour or so. In fact, the only people that appeared to be there were crew, preparing fro the maiden voyage. 

Diana walked next to Thomas Andrews, her gloved hand rested on his bent arm, and she studied his face as he spoke. There was something there that made it impossible not to like him. A light came into his eyes when he spoke at length of his ship, which absorbed and drew her in.

"It takes three million rivets," he was saying, "-and a lot of sweat to make a fine ship."

"A finer ship I've never seen, Mr. Andrews," said Diana. He did not know it, but Thomas Andrews saw then what a very few and select people had seen: Diana's genuine smile.

"Forgive me," he said. "I must be boring you with shipbuilder's talk."

"Oh, no! It's very fascinating." Her eyes lowered. "I guess you could say that it has become a favourite topicof mine."

"Well then, Miss Ryehart, perhaps you would allow me to show her to you once we are underway."

Diana stopped walking suddenly. His words sent off a spark in Diana's mind. She suddenly remembered that she wouldn't be going anywhere if she had no ticket. Looking about, she now saw the people that had appeared around her. In only a short while, it seemed, the White Star Line pier had become very crowded. She gripped his arms tightly, causing him to stop and face her.

"Is something wrong?"

"What time is it?" she asked urgently.

A confused, brow furrowing look was on his face as he looked at his watch. "It is aquarter past eleven. Why, is anything the matter?"

"Yes-er, sort of. I'm sorry Mr. Andrews, but I must go." Diana turned to go. But then she turned, as if she'd abruptly changed her mind, and gave Thomas a small smile as she said: "Thank you. I hope to see you again."

Then she practically ran towards the main White Star Line building, leaving Thomas Andrews, his pocket watch still open in the approximately twenty seconds over which the event had occurred. He closed it and put it back in its place. His gaze lingered in the direction she had gone for a moment or two, before shifting to his ship. There were still many things to occupy his mind on this fateful day.

* * *

Diana burst rather ungraciously through the entrance of the building and tottered, out of breath to the front desk. Those who were in the room, looked at her as if she'd grown three heads, or, worse yet, laughed loudly in public. A thin man with a pointed face looked at her shrewdly as she approached him. 

"Please," she gasped. "I need to book passage, for today."

"Cutting it a bit close, aren't you?" he said lazily. "What class?"

"First, please."

"First!" he said, as if it came as the biggest surprise to him in the world. "I do hope there is still room!" He flipped through a large, leather bound book in front of him, twisting the hairs of his moustache. "Oh, aren't you fortunate! There are a few cabins available!"

"_A few rooms, my ass," _she thought, knowing for a fact that about forty percent of the first-class cabins weren't filled. Outwardly she smiled sweetly.

"I'm booking you in cabin B92," he said, scribbling on two pieces of paper. "This is your boarding pass, and this is your ticket. And would you please sign the passenger log."

He handed the ticket and boarding pass to Diana with a silver nibbed pen. They both bore the red White Star Line flag, and the boarding pass was graced by the image of a majestic Titanic. She looked at it, and marveled at what a difference it was to the ship that lay at the bottom of the ocean. Or would have. Diana signed the passenger list. Then she handed the pen back to the man.

"That will be ₤30, Miss."

Diana opened her small silk purse and pulled out the bills that she had had specially made. It technically wasn't illegal since they were no longer being used. She held her breath as she handed them to him, praying that he wouldn't see a difference. He didn't even glance at them.

"Thank you for traveling on the White Star Lines," he said.

She let out her breath, put on a smile, and slowly exited the building.

* * *

Diana felt her cheeks beginning to burn. When she had sent Josh ahead, she had forgotten about the trunks and hat boxes and was now forced to drag them herself. She pulled one a few feet, and then went back for another, and so on until all of them were in the same place. Then she would start over. It was difficult and tiresome in her clothes, and she was getting in everyone's way, only adding to her humiliation. 

"Excuse me, Miss?"

Diana was bent over one of her trunks, trying to get a good hold on it, when she turned to see the steward behind her. "Yes?" she said, blowing the lock of hair that had come undone from her eyes.

"Could I be of assistance, Miss?"

"Sir, that would be the kindest thing in the world right now."

"It would be no trouble at all, Miss," he looked over his shoulder, motioned with his hand, and two other stewards arrived with luggage carriers.

"Thank you so much," Diana said as they began loading her things. She took a few bills from her purse and handed them to him.

"It really is no trouble, Miss. It wouldn't be right to watch you struggle." He pressed the money back into her hand, and then started towards the first-class entrance as if nothing had happened. "Here you are, Miss. You go on and board. We'll take care of your baggage at the claim."

Before she could answer, they had already continued to the baggage claim. The first-class entrance was before her. At the end of the gangway, an officer and a steward waited to great her. Past them she could see the glimmer of the opulence inside. She took an unsteady step onto the gangway. She was at the point of no return, and she knew it. On one side was Southampton, safe and secure. On the other was her destiny. Diana closed her eyes and forced herself to walk forward.

"Welcome to Titanic," she heard, and opened her eyes. She was onboard.

* * *

**Thank you everyone for my reviews! They completely made my day and really encouraged me to keep writing. I'm glad you guys like it! Also, I'm sorry it too a week to update. I expierienced a little writers block regarding Thomas Andrews. Any pointers on how to depict him would be fantastic. Keep reading and reviewing, please!**

**the Dairy Queen**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks everyone for reading! It's been a long time, but here's chapter three! Again, I don't own anything but the new characters. **

* * *

A steward assisted Diana to her room, B92. It was on the starboard side of the ship, across from the 1st class entrance and reception area. After boarding, Diana had gone to the Purser's office to deposit any valuables if she so chose. She had none, so she was merely given her room key. Now she fitted the key in the lock, gave it a turn and pushed the door open. Her baggage had already arrived. It was a very pretty room. It wasn't very large, but was very well outfitted. The walls were of dark wood paneling and pink floral wall paper. The furnishings consisted of a wooden bed, a vanity stand and mirror, and an armoire, all of which were made of the same matching dark wood. She guessed perhaps it was cherry wood. Also, there was a small round table, and on the table was a lovely bouquet of white roses and blue bells, mixed with sprigs of ivy and baby's breath. 

"Oh!" she exclaimed, going over to them. "But who would send me flowers?" she asked herself. For an instant Josh crossed her mind, him being the only one she knew on board, but she quickly dismissed the thought.

"Passengers customarily receive flowers, Miss," said a voice behind her.

Diana turned and saw a young stewardess opening her trunks and beginning to hang her clothes in the armoire. She was petite and blonde haired. Diana didn't think that she could be past twenty. "I beg you pardon?" she asked.

"They are a gift from the White Star Line shipowners. Very common on a ship's maiden voyage."

"Well, they are lovely, whoever they are from," said Diana, bringing them to her nose to smell the sweet aroma. "Mmmm…I love white roses."

"I'm Lucy, Miss," the girl said. "I'll be available if ever you need assistance."

"Thank you, Lucy. My name is Diana Ryehart. Here, let me help you. I feel silly standing around doing nothing." Diana took a few hangers from the wardrobe and started hanging her dresses in it.

"Well, I must say Miss Diana, you are one of the less difficult passengers I've come across," Lucy said, taking Diana's jewelry box from the bottom of one of the trunks and setting it on the vanity.

"What do you mean?"

"All some women do is ring the bell all day long! It's as though they cannot do a thing without help." Lucy's cheeks reddened and she went busily back to putting away Diana's things. "I beg your pardon, Miss Diana. It was wrong of me to say that."

"Don't apologize, Lucy. There are people I know that make me want to scream sometimes."

Lucy smiled. "You're a very different sort of person, Miss, if you don't mind my saying."

From the depths of the ship rose a loud blast from the smokestacks. "If you are planning to watch the launch above deck," said Lucy. "I suggest you find a place now. It can become very crowded."

"Good idea. I'll see you before dinner then. I'm afraid I'll need to 'ring the bell' for you, if I have even a fragment of hope getting into one of these dresses."

* * *

"Damn, how many bloody corridors are on this ship?" 

Josh had boarded Titanic immediately following his health inspection and then began looking for the third- class room number which was written on his boarding pass. So far, he had been looking for close to an hour. He passed a stairwell, above which was hung a sign reading "E Deck". Beyond that was a passage of some sort, He began down it. It seemed very much like the countless others he had tried and retried again; very long with several white doors lining either side. When he came to the end of this one, he turned and his mind began to wander.

"_What can she be thinking? Well, it's quite simple. Oh, yes. I know it shouldn't be hard to understand, or so everyone feels the need to tell me, no matter the topic. You know, I'm not a bloody half-wit! Do people forget that I went to university as well?"_

After a time, he turned again, though now not aiming for any particular direction.

"_I think it's always been about my father, right? I mean, he was never one for fatherly love. And now with my joining his board of directors, there's just so much pressure! The aggravation, the expectation, so goddamn unbearable. I really don't think it's for me."_

He turned again…

"_She is just too stubborn! She always has to be right, always. And she's been the same since we were five! Christ, I don't know what it is, but something feels wrong. Don't ask me how I know, hell, I don't even know, but something just doesn't feel right. Maybe I have a sixth sense. Now that would be wicked." _

Suddenly, he halted. Hadn't he been there before? Everything was so familiar. But this wasn't just run of the mill "everything looks the same," everything seriously looked the same! Josh sighed heavily and sunk to the ground below the "E Deck" sign.

"Dear God," he whimpered. "When will it end?"

* * *

Diana had found a tight place on the boat deck rail, beside a large gentleman and a woman who was wearing rather too much perfume. Nevertheless, she had a beautiful view. For a moment she had thought to have caught a glimpse of Mr. Andrews, his notebook open in his hand. But the image was gone as quickly as it had come, and it was useless trying to find him amongst so many people. 

Below her was an endless wave of people come to see the ship off. The came a loud burst from the smokestacks, and the passengers on deck were waving and shouting at the people on land: relatives, friends, and complete strangers. Diana couldn't help but be caught up in it. Her gloved hands gripped the railing, keeping her from losing her balance as she leaned over it, waving at the people below. Next to Diana, the man and woman were saying above the noise to each other:

"Can you see Ginger?" asked the woman.

"My, dear, I haven't been looking." The man responded.

"Haven't been looking? How can you say such a thing? She must be petrified! I knew we shouldn't have left her behind, she should have come with us!"

"Well, my dear, if you would step off the ship to get her, I'm sure you'd find her well enough, but then you would have missed the ship. Actually, perhaps you should…"

"Oh! There she is, I see her!"

"I'm not sure that's-"

"What am I saying? That can't be her, I remember Agnes curled her hair only this morning. Where can she be?"

"Perhaps-"

"Good heavens, there she is! There is Agnes with her right now."

"Oh yes, quite right, there they are."

"GINGY!" shouted down to the dock. "There now, Agnes has seen us. Well hold her up, incompetent girl! How does she expect us to Ginger in this crowd with her down on the ground?"

"I haven't the slightest notion, my dear."

Amongst the crowd was a young woman, plain dressed. In her arms was a curly haired Yorkshire Terrier.

* * *

"Hey, you okay? Do you, uh, need a hand?" 

Josh stopped banging his head against the wall long enough to look up. He saw two young men, both looking to be around his age, perhaps a bit younger, peering down at him curiously. One, whom he assumed had spoken, had light, somewhat sandy coloured hair, a shock of it falling close to his eyes. The other stood close behind. This one was dark, perhaps Italian Josh assumed, and had curly black hair. Both were dressed somewhat poorly, their clothes a bit worn. But then, so was he.

"I look that pathetic, huh?" Josh took the hand that was offered and was helped to his feet.

For a moment they stood around awkwardly saying nothing. This was probably mostly his own fault, Josh realized, with his never failing ability to act weird in front of strangers. He just never could think of anything to say. He thought about bringing up great nautical disasters of the twentieth century, but for some reason that didn't seem entirely appropriate. Fortunately, he didn't have to say anything.

"So," the American said. "Where you headed?"

"I've got no bloody idea," said Josh flatly.

"Maybe we can help. Let me see your ticket."

Josh reluctantly handed it over. What a Rude-American, he decided. Still, Rude-American's help was better than no help at all.

"I think I know where this is," said Rude-American, after a moment looking at Josh's ticket. "Fabri, this is close, right."

"It's there, no?" responded the Italian, motioning a short ways down the corridor.

Josh hastily snatched his ticket back. He laughed nervously, picked up his rucksack, and turn towards his room, two doors away from where he'd been bludgeoning his brains out against the wall. Before leaving, he paused. Perhaps this Rude-American and the Italian chap weren't- completely- rude. He stuck out his right hand to the Italian.

"Thanks a lot," he said and smiled. "My name's Josh Byrd."

"Fabrizio," the Italian responded.

Josh turned to the American, extending his hand.

The American shook it. "I'm Jack Dawson," he said.

* * *

Diana remained above deck long after the other passengers had gone inside. Overhead the sun glistened upon the sea, lighting it up like a brilliant blue diamond. But Diana didn't see its beauty, nor had she seen the last of England recede into the horizon, and then disappear altogether. She did not see the other first-class passengers shiver and scowl as the Atlantic breeze picked up, and she did not hear them complain amongst themselves about the chill. Diana's eyes were closed, and all she saw and heard was Home. She had live in the same place her whole life. Very soon after they were married, Diana's parents had bought their home in Surrey. It was not large. Diana was born less than a year later and it had always remained just the three of them. It did not need to be large. 

But it was comfortable. It was cozy, and a place she could always turn to. It was home. When she was young, her parents had been her world. They'd done everything together. Cooking with her mother, tending the garden with her father. Where were they now? Were they at home? Daddy could see her parents sitting together in front of the fireplace in the living room. Dad would be reading the Evening Standard, his spectacles perched precariously on the tip of his nose. There would be dirt under his fingernails from the garden, but Mum wouldn't mind, as long as he didn't track any onto the carpet from the hem of his cords. Where was Mum? Mum was leaning upon the armrest, staring into the fire. Is she wondering where her daughter is? Where her little girl has gone?

The house in Surrey, 1991

" '_Ana, please fetch Mummy the cups. Your Dad will be home soon, and we'll want everything ready for him. "_

_Four-year old Diana Ryehart stood on a chair to reach the top of the cupboard where her mother kept her china. She carefully took down three plain white teacups. As she was stepping down from the chair, she spied the beautiful blue flowered one her mother kept for special occasion. Well, this was as special an occasion as any, wasn't it? Father hadn't been home for a week and Diana wanted his homecoming to be special. She reached for the cup. It may have been too large for her small hands, or the delicate handle possibly was slick with dust. Whichever it was, the teacup suddenly fell from her hands and shattered on the linoleum floor. _

"_Well, don't just stare at it!" scolded Mum. "You made that mess, you're going to clean it up. No one is ever going to do anything for you."_

_Diana started to cry. Suddenly her mother's arms were around her, Diana sobbing into her shoulder. _

"Miss, can I get you anything?"

Diana looked up. It was mid afternoon. Titanic was heading south towards Cherbourg, and would arrive in a few hours. A steward now looked inquiringly at her and Diana realized that he had asked a question.

"Oh," she said. "Tea would be nice I suppose, thank you. Oh no, I can –"

Despite her protests, the steward helped Diana settle into one of the deckchairs. He left momentarily to bring the tea. Soon after, he returned with a warm blanket to "ensure that she was comfortable." Tucking it around her, he turned to the tea tray he had brought.

"Really, I can do that…" Diana said as he poured and prepared her tea. Finally she gave up, realizing that nothing would keep them from doing everything for her. She sighed and sank into the deck chair, gazing across the sea where in a short while France would be seen on the horizon.

"Do you require anything else, Miss?" the steward asked.

"No," Diana said. "No, I'm fine."

"Don't hesitate to ask if you need anything at all."

"I won't," said Diana with a slight, soft smile.

* * *

**Chapter 4 soon, I promise! **


	4. Chapter 4

**4**

"Good evening, Miss."

Diana gave a polite nod as the door from the promenade deck was opened for her. She had spent the afternoon on the boat deck and only realized the hours that had passed when she heard the announcement of dinner. As she had earlier predicted, she had been much in need of Lucy's assistance in dressing. Standing at the Grand Staircase, her gloved hands resting on the rail she felt like a doll. Lucy had stitched her into her corset so that now she could hardly breathe and about a zillion pins held her hair together. Really, she'd counted. Nevertheless, when Diana left her room she'd felt pretty.

She leaned over the rail. Couples swirled all the way down the stair, deck after deck, until they were only small points at the base of the staircase. It occurred to Diana that she did not know a soul on board. Oh, she knew their names well indeed; Captain Smith, the Strausses, Caledon Hockley and the DeWitt Bukators. But she really didn't know _them._ At that moment, she had not a clue what she was going to do in the Dining Room. Teenage images flooded back to her of the first day at school and the dreaded lunch hour, trying to find a table to sit at. She was fairly certain the same rules did _not_ apply here. She looked about for a familiar face. She found one.

* * *

Only hours had passed since they'd left Southampton, but already his black notebook held pages of notings. In general they were minor detail that could easily enough be corrected. And in _Gigantic_, they would be. _Olympic_ was a great ship; _Titanic_ was nearly perfect. _Gigantic_ would be perfect. He'd poured himself into the design of those sister ships. Lord knows how many hours into the night the lamp light gleamed from the windows of his office in Belfast. His eyes moved along the Grand Staircase. Here was the vision of Mr. Ismay, the majestic center of the ship. The top steps were a touch too narrow. He made a note in his book. By his own admittance, he should be joining Captain Smith and Mr. Ismay in the dining room rather than filling his notebook. It was a long standing habit. In truth he would prefer dining alone in his cabin to this, and continue working on his ship. But it was the first night of her maiden voyage and he was expected to be there with the other passengers. Still, that did not mean he cease work altogether.

"Mr. Andrews?"

Thomas Andrews turned to the tentative voice at his side.

* * *

This was ridiculous. Why should she bother him? For Heaven's sake, he was the builder of the grandest and most notorious ship in history, and she'd hardly said more than a few words to him. There he was, quite occupied with his notebook; who was she to interrupt? A lady traveling alone, that's who. What in God's name had possessed her to do that? The reason had quite escaped her. She could very well have traveled as Mrs. Josh Byrd, as unbelievably weird as it would have been. They would have managed well enough. But it was far too late for that now, and what else could she do? Almost as if against her own will, Diana felt herself taking steps forward and before she could stop them, his name flew from her lips.

He turned.

For an instant, Diana Margaret Ryehart could well have died on the spot. But he smiled. Her innards slowly unknotted themselves.

"Mr. Andrews," she repeated. "Good evening."

"Why Miss Ryehart, hello."

"Hello…Mr. Andrews, please excuse my leaving so abruptly this morning."

"Oh, not at all."

"Still, I feel I should apologize."

Thomas Andrews smiled. "It's quite alright."

Diana smiled, but words failed her. Oh God, how had she grown up so horrifically awkward? She glanced about, grasping for something, _anything, _to say.

"I don't suppose," she began, then faltered. "-um, that is to say, you wouldn't, perhaps, mind…"

"Are you alone?"

"Yes." No use denying it.

He offered her his arm.

"Miss Ryehart, would you join my table this evening?"

"Yes. Thank you, yes." She looped her hand through his elbow and they began to descend the staircase. Thank God gentleman existed in this century, she thought in genuine relief. Perhaps he'd sensed her discomfort. Perhaps not. Regardless, in that moment, he was her hero.

* * *

Around the Captain's table were several persons: some whom Diana recognized, others she did not. Of note was J. Bruce Ismay, who was in an obviously pleased and good mood. He had allowed himself to be congratulated by and had congratulated anyone in particular at the success of the launch. At present, his attention turned to Captain Smith. Captain Edward James Smith, "The Millionaire's Captain," looked as much at ease in the opulent dining room as he did on the bridge of a ship.

"It went off remarkably well, I think. Not a bad launch, eh EJ?" said Ismay.

"Yes, but I would have preferred no setback at all."

"I wouldn't say that was a setback, a minor delay if anything."

Diana sat at Thomas Andrew's left. He had introduced her to the others at the table and, to her relief, they'd bothered little with her. Of course no one would know of her or her family. Throughout, she'd acted her part: lady-like smiles and impeccable manners. Then she'd opened her big mouth.

"Oh, are you speaking of that incident in Southampton this morning, that other ship- what was it called?" asked one of the women at the table.

"_New York," _Diana blurted.

"What?" The woman (who actually wore a bit too much perfume, Diana thought) looked minorly appalled at Diana's practical-shout.

"_New York,_" Diana repeated, reddening and beginning to stutter as each pair of eyes at the table turned towards her. "The near collision this morning, the ship was called _New York. _Ironic isn't it? I was on deck at the time. In fact, I stayed there the whole of the afternoon, looking at the sea, admiring the view. One of the best sightseeing experiences I've had, actually: I was able to stay right in my deck chair the entire time and not have to worry about missing any sights on the other side of ship…"

Diana trailed off. Beside her, Mr. Andrews stifled a laugh.

"Because, of course…" she began weakly, "…the view is always the same…the water I mean. Well, besides the stray dolphin I suppose…."

"You are quite informed, Miss Ryehart," said Ismay, regaining the attention of the table. "Yes, there was indeed an incident, a minor incident, but of no consequence I assure you. Thomas here has built us a marvelous ship."

"Indeed, Mr. Andrews, it's splendid, my staterooms are lovely," the women interjected. Diana settled against her chair as normal conversation resumed.

* * *

These shoes were cursed. Honestly, they were a loathsome creation. By the end of the evening, Diana was fairly certain that she would be unable to walk the next day. Which reminded her: she'd intended to see Josh that afternoon, but the day had passed scarcely before she had realized it. The sun was already setting as she remembered him, not without some apprehensive guilt. He would have to wait for tomorrow. If, at said time, she's re-obtained her ability to walk. Diana longed to hobble, to crawl, to find a steward and have him carry her around, in a wheelbarrow if necessary. She could not, however, for several reasons: first, that "she" was a first class lady; second, that she was fairly certain crawling would destroy her dress (regardless that she couldn't very well crawl while wearing her corset); and third, that Thomas Andrews was at present escorting her from the dining saloon and she was not about to look completely, utterly, and irrevocably ridiculous as she felt.

Well, at the very least, she wasn't going to look _more _completely, utterly, and irrevocably ridiculous as she felt. Was it too much to expect a reasonably well done attempt at the right behavior: agreeable smiles, properly ladylike commentation on the conversation? No, she was always the same old Diana: always a bit too serious, a bit too loud-mouthed, and quite a bit too awkward. Although, her "slight" eagerness to discuss her favourite topic at dinner had garnered a laugh from Mr. Andrews. She was fairly sure the Captain and Mr. Ismay thought her vaguely amusing. She was absolutely positive that Madame What's-Her-Name-Who-Wore-Too-Much-Perfume thought her completely daft. But at least Mr. Andrews at laughed (hopefully with-not at- her?), which somewhat elevated her spirits. He was actually quite fascinating, particularly when it dawned on her that _Titanic_ had sprung from the brain of the very man she walked with. Oh, the questions she longed to ask him! Unfortunately, that they'd shortly arrived at her stateroom (and that she would probably have ended up bombarding him and consequently looked like a madwoman) prevented her from doing so.

"You know Mr. Andrews, I believe you promised to give me a tour of the ship after we left port."

"So I did," he said pleasantly.

"I was hoping you hadn't forgotten. Then I might have had to remind you in a terribly awkward mess of a conversation."

Thomas Andrews smile reassured her. At least he didn't seem to think she belonged in an asylum.

"Rest assured, Miss Ryehart, you'll see her. I can take you tomorrow morning if you'd like."

"I'd like that. Very much."

As she withdrew her hand from his arm, Diana's hand brushed against his for a fraction of an instant. It was less than a second. A warm shock ran through her from the point where his thumb had grazed her fingertips. It was merely a moment. She hadn't expected his hands to be rough. Almost too quickly, she stepped back, towards her door. Alarmingly, she felt perplexingly incomplete without that instant, that second, that moment's graze. She reached for her doorknob, opened her door, and turned towards him. Why had she not before realized how much taller than her he was?

"Goodnight Mr. Andrews," she said, her voice miraculously concealing the turmoil in her head.

"Goodnight, Miss Ryehart." He smiled before she closed the door.

Why had her heart skipped a beat? It had, in that there was no denying. She couldn't forget how it had distinctly faltered. What had been its cause? Was it the same thing which had caused her cheeks to flush, or her face to burn? Was it the same thing which had sent a shiver running through her? Leaning against her stateroom door, the thought swirled about in her mind. After a moment, she went to her nightstand to attempt to deconstruct the sculpture of hair that was mounted atop her head.

* * *

_She is in a familiar room. An attic. There is something comforting about the scene: cardboard crates, odd bits of furniture and linens, a window in one corner and a reading nook. Two young children, a boy and girl, sit on a threadbare carpet. The girl reads, while the boy looks listlessly at a pattern or spot on the carpet. He speaks: _

"'_Ana?"_

"_Yeah?" The girl doesn't look up from her book. _

"_Are you gonna forget me?"_

"_Why'd I forget you?"_

"_Cause I'm moving."_

"_So?"_

"_So I'll never ever see you again."_

_The girl pauses, closes her book, and turns to the boy. _

"_Josh, you're moving across the street."_

"_Yeah, but we won't be next-door neighbors anymore."_

"_You're gonna be a big brother, you need a bigger house."_

"_I like my house now." _

"_Yeah, well where's your new baby brother or sister gonna sleep?"_

"_With Mummy and Daddy."_

"_When it's really old, when it's ten, how about then?"_

"_It can live in the garage," the boy says sulkily. _

"_You're such a dork, Josh. A person can't live in a garage. That's where the cars live."_

_The girl looks at the boy who, brow furrowed, stares intently at the carpet. _

"_Promise you won't forget me?" he finally says. _

"_Of course I'm not gonna forget you."_

"_Yeah, but do you promise?"_

"_I promise."_

"_Pinky swear?"_

_He holds out his fist, his pinky curled towards her. She leans forward to hook her pinky with his when he impulsively kisses her on the mouth. The girl jumps to her feet, startled. _

"_Ew! Josh, you're gross!"_

"_Sorry…"_

"_Yuck. I was gonna show you something cool too, but I don't think I will now."_

"_Really? What is it?" The boy's eager eyes are wide. _

"_Nope, I'm not gonna tell." She pauses less than a moment. "It's a picture."_

"_A picture? That's it? Can I see?"_

"_No, you're gross." Even less than a moment later: "Ok, fine. Over here." _

_The girl moves to the window opens the compartment beneath the window seat. She removes an old tin tea box, and rifles through it, pulling out wrinkled postcards, weathered stickers, and other priceless keepsakes. Finally, she settles on a fragile photograph and shows it to the boy. _

"_I don't get it, it's just a boy and a girl."_

"_Yeah, but they're on the _Titanic_."_

"_How do you know?"_

"_My Daddy told me. He said they were pro'lly friends with his Grandpa."_

"_Oh. That's not as cool as I though it would be. You wanna play outside? Mummy won't let me in the house when the movers are in there. She thinks I'll get boxed up."_

"_Ok." The girl, almost lovingly, returns the photograph to the tin, returns the tin, and both nearly run from the room.  
_

* * *

The dream did not linger. Diana awoke the next morning with a haunted feeling of home. Indeed, initially she quite forgot herself and when she pulled the thick covers around her, she was surprised in finding the thin and frayed blanket she'd kept since infancy, absent. Her eyes opened. In adjusting, they locked upon the crystal ceiling lamp of her stateroom, then the beautiful wood and papered walls, the elegant nightstand and bedposts. Closing her eyes again, she relaxed into the comforting thrum of the ship.

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Poor me. **

**Author's Note: **Wow, it's been quite a while since I uploaded anything. Sorry about that, for anyone that was interested. It's been kind of hectic, but I think I'll have the next part up much sooner. I hope you all like the latest chapter. Oh, and please continue to review. The encouragement has been wonderful, thank you! Also, if any of you have suggestions, that's fabulous.

* * *


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